


In the Wake of the War

by polyrhythm



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Mass Effect Kink Meme, post-ME3, prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:31:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2106348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polyrhythm/pseuds/polyrhythm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the kink meme: The Shakarian effect. A human and a turian were already kinda/sorta attracted to each other, but didn't want to act on it due to outside pressures - which thanks to Shepard and Garrus are now gone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nicola, an artist-turned-nurse after the war, helps a turian soldier recover and forms a bond with him. In the mean-time, the search for Shepard and the survivors from the Normandy continues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Recovery

There were more injured soldiers than there were doctors and nurses after the war, which was how Nic found herself holding up a one-legged turian with carbon monoxide poisoning as he coughed phlegm into a basin. The doctors had taken care of the worst of his injuries, but lasting damage to his lungs and daily hyperbaric oxygenation meant that he was weak and often disoriented. He didn’t manage to speak to her properly until her third day with him.

“Thank you,” he said, as she helped him sit upright and raised water to his mouth. His voice was deep and rasped softly from the effects of the smoke inhalation. He’d barged into a flaming building to rescue some civilians, and nearly lost his life in the process. As it was, he’d only lost a leg. 

She smiled. “You’re welcome. Feeling better?” His most recent coughing bout had left him quivering with exhaustion, but his breathing seemed easier now despite the ugly rattle in his breath. 

He nodded gravely, and said slowly, “Your name...?” He took the cup of water from her with a shaking hand.

“Nicola,” she said. She had introduced herself when they had first met, but he’d been half delusional from pain. She wasn’t surprised that he didn’t remember. “And you’re Amicus.” She propped a pillow behind his neck so that he wouldn’t strain the muscles in his neck, tucking it in between the space between his head and the inside of his cowl. As they were in an Earth hospital there wasn’t much in the way of turian-style bedding, so she was improvising. He eased back the into pillow gratefully, eyes fluttering closed. 

“That’s right,” he said, almost inaudibly. She bent her head down to his so her translator could pick up his words. “How long ... have you been a nurse ...?”

Nic chuckled. “About a week. I was a painter before the war.”

His eyes opened to look at her, and she noticed for the first time that his eyes were an unusual brownish-red flecked with green. “A painter...” 

“And a teacher,” she amended. “I wasn’t a good enough painter to live off it.” 

“And during the war...?” he asked. 

She gave him a half-smile and tried not to let the guilt creep into her voice. “A survivor, mostly. Can I take your pulse?”

He nodded slightly, and his eyes closed again as she touched her fingers to his neck, gently pressing into his tough skin so she could count his heartbeats to the tick of the second hand on her watch. His pulse sped up when she left her hand there. Brow furrowed, she said, “I’m going to get Doctor Callifrax to see you as soon he’s free.” 

The turian gave a chuckle that quickly turned into a cough. “Doctor Callifrax has done everything that can be expected of him for the moment,” he wheezed, looking down at the stump of his leg. “He should attend to those that need it more.” 

Nic sat back slightly, biting her lip. After a moment, Amicus laid his hand against hers. “I am not bitter. It is good to be alive.”

Her smile this time was sure. “Yes. Yes it is.”

She found herself wrangling extra food for him when most dextro-amino food proved to be tightly rationed. Many of the turians who fought in the final battle against the Reapers were looking at long stays on Earth due to the destruction of the mass relays; of the ships that were functional, most of them were committed to returning important members of the Hierarchy to Palaven first, then those turians with family there second. Amicus, she discovered, fit neither of those categories.

“No family?” she asked him, sitting by his bed as he carefully ate some dextro slop that looked vaguely like meaty soup. 

“None. I’m a ward of the state. I grew up outside of Hierarchy space, which is why I don’t have...” He gestured briefly to his face and she took a moment to realise what he meant. No colony markings. “My parents were killed in a batarian raid when I was thirteen. They were traders.” His voice was calm. 

Nicola nodded. She had learned right away that Amicus was not the kind of man ... turian ... to accept condolences, so she briefly rested her hand against his arm. His mandibles flickered. Was that like a smile? She still had trouble reading his expressions.

“I was rescued by a military vessel shortly after the raid, and since it was only a few years 'til I was due to start my state service anyway, I was accepted as a ward of the state.” He lowered the bowl he was drinking from. “I’ve been in the military since then ... never settled down.” He took a sip of his soup and made a disgusted sound that made Nicola laugh.

“That bad, huh?” The soup was deliberately cooler than it should be, in order to not aggravate his sensitive throat. 

“Pretty terrible, yeah.” 

“I’ll do better next time.”

He looked at her quickly. “You made this for me?”

“Well, I poured it from the bottle and heated it up a bit, yes,” she said with a grin.

“It’s delicious,” he lied smoothly, and Nic had to smother her laughter so as not to disturb the patients in the beds around them.

 

She wasn’t sure how they got to talking about Commander Shepard and Garrus Vakarian, but considering they were a turian and a human it probably wasn’t that unusual. Shepard and Vakarian were galactic heroes, and though neither of them had been seen since the end of the war they were the topic of discussions everywhere. Where were they? Were they alive? Despite the overwhelming majority opinion that they were both dead, a barely-hidden undercurrent of hope threaded through the mire of doubt. 

“No bodies means they could still be alive, right?” Nicola said to him, hooking dark hair behind her ears. She drew Amicus’ arm around her shoulders and helped him stand on his new prosthetic. It was a crude thing, reminding her more of a pirate peg-leg than anything. A cybernetic replacement limb would be available when resources weren’t so depleted. 

“It could mean that,” he said. He seemed reluctant to give her too much hope. She scowled and he chuckled at her expressiveness.

“Well _I’d_ like to think they’re sitting on a beach somewhere, getting a tan and drinking mojitos.”

“That’s a nice thought. What’s a mojito?”

“Alcoholic beverage. I’ll make it for you some day.” 

“Trying to get me drunk, Nic?” he asked lightly, and she felt her cheeks tingle.

“Maybe later.” She shifted so his weight was more solidly placed over her shoulders and said, “How’s that?”

He leant on his prosthetic slightly. “No pain. It’ll take some getting used to, though.” 

“Ready for a short trip down the hall and back, preferably without having a coughing attack or throwing up on me?”

“Well let’s not get _too_ carried away,” he said. 

She dug her elbow into his ribcage and he gave a breathless laugh. A wave of warmth coursed down her body at the sound. Startled, and a little nervous, she focussed instead on balancing his weight and took pleasure in the increasing surety of his steps.


	2. Anticipation

Nicola quickly found that Amicus became as familiar to her as any of the human patients. She got used to his grey, plated skin. She got used to his soft-spoken manner and the permanent rasp in his voice. She got used to being the one beneath his arm as he slowly adapted to his prosthetic. And visiting him became not only familiar, but the most anticipated part of her day.

Amicus grew restless, eager to be out of the hospital -- “Help with the rebuilding, at least,” -- but it wouldn’t happen soon. His recovery was complicated by extensive damage to his lungs and he regularly found himself short of breath, reduced to coughing fits, his voice dropping to a whisper. There were no occupational therapists to help him get used to his new prosthetic, no speech therapists to help his harmonics return to their former strength. 

His CO visited briefly to officially recognise his contribution to the war effort and grant a leave of absence until fit to return to duty. He also offered his apologies that they would not be able to return Amicus home to Palaven sooner. 

"It's no problem," Amicus had replied. "Palaven wasn't really my home anyway." 

His voice was mild, but Nic, standing politely outside the door, saw the turian Commander's talons twitch. 

Later, when she had asked about the Commander's reaction, Amicus shrugged a little and said, "He was a good CO, but we weren't friends." He gave his low, soft chuckle, and said, "I was ribbing him a little. How he must hate it that I survived the war when other soldiers, others with a place in the world, fell."

Nic frowned. There was an edge to Amicus' tone that spoke more of hurt than of hate. 

 

A storm rattled the little hospital one night, the hail trapping Nic and the other nurses there for the evening. Instead of sleeping, she sought Amicus out and sat by his bedside, listening as he told her of his life amongst the stars. To Nic, who had left Earth for Mars only once, and had never left the Sol system, the tales were alluring. 

“Why haven’t you travelled?” Amicus asked. “If it interests you so...”

Nic shrugged. “Never had enough money. Never had a reason to go, either. I don’t know anyone out there, my job had nothing to do with it.” Her breath was wistful. “I thought if I ever got married, I might honeymoon somewhere else in the galaxy ... visit Thessia, one of the garden worlds, I don’t know.”

“Honeymoon?” 

“A holiday you take after you get married -- bonded,” she added, remembering the difference.

“Ah, yeah. We don’t have a turian equivalent.” His elbow shifted on the mattress. “... Did you have a boyfriend? Or girlfriend?”

She gave a little grin. “What makes you think I don’t have one now?”

He looked at her for a long moment, before saying slowly, “You don’t.”

Nicola swallowed. “No. I don’t.” 

They were locked in each others gazes for a moment, then Nicola blushed and looked away, and Amicus settled back against the pillows thoughtfully. It hadn’t escaped his noticed that as open as he was about his past, she had told him almost nothing of hers. 

 

Amicus awoke that night to the familiar sound of one of the patients having a nightmare, but his eyes snapped open when he realised that the little moans of fear were coming from right beside him. He looked to his side to find that Nic had fallen asleep in her chair. Her brow was wrinkled and her eyes roamed feverishly behind their lids. 

"Stop," she said clearly, startling him a little. The woman in the next bed over stirred restlessly.

I have to wake her, he thought. He reached over and gripped the only part of her he could reach from the bed: her hand. 

Her reaction made him draw a quick breath; she gave a little shudder and calmed immediately, her fingers closing around his. 

He stared at her, watching her settle back into deep sleep. Her grip on his hand was as gentle and insistent as the hum of the spacer engines he had known all his life. 

Fleetingly he felt a surge of anger. Silly little human. Soft skin, soft hair, soft everything. He'd break her if he touched her the way he wanted to. Couldn’t she feel the thundering of his blood? 

He looked away from her, almost ashamed of the corporeal response she provoked in him. But she slept on, and her hand stayed wrapped around his, and after a while her slow breathing soothed him back to sleep. 

 

The next morning was awkward when they awoke with their hands still wrapped around each others. He watched her eyes go wide and round as she realised that her hand was the one doing the holding. But Amicus flicked a mandible at her and said, "Good morning," and she stretched and smiled and said good morning back, and then she went in search of their breakfast. As their fingers untangled he let out a deep sigh that he tried to disguise as a cough. Damn, he thought. Damn it all. 

 

“Hey, Mic and Nic!” One of Nicola’s colleagues, Noor, a sunny-faced nurse with a cheeky smile, interrupted them at their lunch. “Did you hear the news?”

“What news?”

“The Normandy’s back! It survived the blast from the Citadel!”

“ _What?_ ” Nicola jumped up so fast she almost knocked over her chair. “No way ... Commander Shepard ...?”

Noor shook her head quickly, her smile slipping a little. “No, it seems like the rumours about Shepard being on the Citadel when it blew are true.” Nicola let out a little moan and sat back down as Noor continued. “There’s no hope that she survived, but I know people are still looking ... But there were others. That spectre, Williams, and Dr. T’Soni, and Garrus Vakarian--”

“Vakarian,” Amicus said, his voice thick with an emotion Nicola couldn’t decipher. 

“He’s in London now, trying to find the Commander’s body.” Noor sighed. “Poor thing. They were a couple, you know. Not to mention the fact that she sacrificed herself ...” She saw Nicola’s almost haunted expression and quickly changed topics. “But it’s great that the rest of the Normandy crew survived, right?”

“Yes. Yeah, you’re right.”

They saw Vakarian on one of the small news monitors later on in the day. He spoke briefly and vaguely of the ‘cooperation of the Normandy crew in bringing her operational’ and ‘plans to contribute to the rebuilding effort’. Nicola thought he looked distracted. Amicus said nothing, but his eyes didn’t move from the monitor until the interviews with the Normandy crew had ceased.


	3. Little Contacts, Little Negotiations

Amicus walked more, and Nic kept helping him. He was doing very well on his own, but Nic told herself that she was there, with a hand on his elbow or his arm over her shoulders, if he needed her. Little contacts that seemed to ground them both. They were becoming inseparable.

They did have one moment that neither of them could explain away.

“That’s it!” Nic was grinning from ear-to-ear -- partly from a strange feeling of accomplishment, and partly from amusement at the incongruous image of Amicus walking towards her like a toddler on wobbly new legs. She instinctively held her arms out to him when he neared her and he gave a frustrated little chuff as he half collapsed into them. He straightened and muttered, “Sorry,” but she was too giddy to care. She wrapped her arms around him. 

For a fraction of a second, she felt the muscles under his thin clothes tense, and then he relaxed into her embrace. He was incredibly warm. She felt his talons resting at the small of her back, lightly clutching the fabric of her shirt. She rested her head against the tough edge of his cowl.

Then Noor walked in on them. She gave a surprised little ‘oh’ and started laughing. “Sorry, didn’t mean to...” Nic and Amicus leapt away from each other. “...Interrupt,” she finished wryly.

“No, no no,” Nic started, just as Amicus said, “She was just steadying me.” 

“Sure, sure,” Noor said, peacefully directing Amicus to sit. “You’re doing much better, Mic, but I don’t know if you’re up for _that_ kind of activity yet.” She laughed as Nicola spluttered indignantly. 

“I have some good news,” Noor said to Amicus. “Doc says you’ll be free to leave in a few days.” She shucked up Amicus’ shirt unapologetically to put a stethoscope to the underside of his ribcage. Amicus gave a squawk of shock at the cold. “Cough.” She listened for a moment. “Yeah, that’s as good as we can hope for, for now.

“Any idea what you’ll do?” She sat back, unhooking the stethoscope from her ears.

Amicus rearranged his shirt, staring unseeingly at Noor for a moment. 

“The Alliance will take care of food and accommodation and stuff if you help with the rebuilding,” Nicola suggested, bringing him out of his reverie.

He was quiet. Then, “I’d be fine with that but ... I think I’d rather help search for survivors in the Citadel wreckage.”

Noor nodded. “Noble. Maybe a bit futile but who knows.” She gave an easy shrug. “Maybe you’ll find Commander Shepard.” 

 

 

A few days later, and Amicus’ condition had improved enough that he could be up and moving with the aid of a walking stick. As the over-crowded hospital was eager to discharge anyone fit to do so, Nic, not a little nervously, offered to share her London apartment with him. 

He was shocked into silence at the offer, and stammered refusal for about a minute after, which Nicola took with annoyance. 

“You have someone else you can rely on, do you? Or you’ll be going back to Palaven soon, will you?” 

He shifted hesitantly under her glare. “You know it’s not that.”

“Then quit complaining,” she said brusquely, collecting his things. He gave a half-laugh, half-sigh, recognising her inarguable tone of voice. As she busied herself, he stood over his hospital bed. He shook the hands of the long-term patients he’d come to know. He didn’t see Doctor Callifrax, or the nurse, Noor, but knew that if he waited for them to show up it could take all day. He followed Nicola out to the street, where she was flagging down a sky-car.

When she turned to look at him, lips parted nervously, hesitancy in her eyes, annoyance in her brow, he knew suddenly how scared she must be. Not of him, but of asking him to go with her. 

“You...you don’t have to come with me if you don’t want--” she started to say.

He moved quickly, faster than she thought he could, stepped up to her and abruptly rested his forehead against hers. Nicola stiffened, surprised, but didn’t move away. They stood like that for a moment as she looked up into his flecked eyes, stunned. Then he moved back from her, saying softly. “Are you sure...?”

Nicola couldn’t breathe. “Ah ... yeah...” 

“... Very well.” 

 

 

Her apartment block stood lonely between two destroyed buildings; clearly it was only luck that it was still upright. The bottom floor of the building had seen action. Its stairwell had been hastily repaired and there were bullet holes and blast marks on the walls. The upper floors were remarkably unscathed except for a few fallen pot-plants and broken windows. 

Her apartment itself was neat, but almost devoid of trappings; the bare necessities were there. In the main room, a small window looked out over London buildings punctuated by Reaper carnage. There was a small bathroom and a kitchen, a living room with a couch and a small bedroom. Perfectly cozy for one, a little small for two. But Amicus was still overcome by the generosity of her offer was and couldn't care less about the size of the place. 

“Well, make yourself at home. I’ll take the couch; you can use my bed while you’re recovering. No,” she raised a hand to forestall his protestations. “Refuse my offer again and I’ll throw you out on your arse.” She gave him a half smile as he sighed in defeat. “You wouldn’t fit on the couch anyway. Want to take a shower or anything? The water and electricity is a bit on-off at the moment, but ...”

He shivered and gave a little sneeze, and she tutted and pushed him towards the bathroom. “Thousands of years of technological advancement doesn’t stop London from being cold and wet,” she muttered. “How’s your temperature?”

“It’s fine.” He watched her move a chair aimlessly. She had been tense ever since he had nuzzled her. Perhaps it had been a step too far. He knew they were friends ... she hadn’t mentioned wanting anything more. He took the towel she offered and shut himself in the bathroom with a sigh. 

 

 

Their first day of living together was full of little negotiations. Of carefully not-touching when they passed each other, of designating levo- and dextro-friendly areas of the fridge, of trying to give the other privacy. Nicola thought that Amicus would want to be alone after so much time spent with others in the hospital; Amicus thought he was intruding on Nicola’s space and almost asked for permission every time he sat down. When she asked why, half out of annoyance, and he confessed the reason, they ended up laughing at themselves. 

“I’ve been in the military my whole life, I’m used to no privacy,” he said, chuckling. 

“Oh yeah.” Nic slid a hand over her smiling face. “That somehow slipped my mind.” She let out a gusty breath. “Sorry, Amicus. I don’t really know that much about turians, I’m kinda afraid I’m going to overstep some cultural boundary and screw everything up.”

“Me too.” His mandibles flickered in what she now recognised was a smile. “Let’s just be honest with each other, alright?”

“Affirmative,” she replied, making him snort.

The only time they seemed to function as normal was when she checked his vitals in the evening, and helped him removed his prosthetic. It was an easy enough task, but he let her do it; releasing the clasps that strapped it around to his thigh and over his hips. It seemed to calm her, too. When she smiled at him and said goodnight, it was with a frank affection that made him think that hey, everything would turn out okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support so far! It really warms my heart :) I'll be updating every day until I've caught up with what I've written, and then it will be as fast as I write. This is a slightly more edited version than what comes up on kmeme, and hopefully better quality.


	4. Think of the Stars

He hadn’t expected it, but maybe he should have. He awoke once again to the sounds of Nic’s night terrors. Using his cane to raise himself from bed, he hop-clicked out of her bedroom to where she lay curled up on the couch. As he neared her he heard her muttering, “No, no, no...”

When he reached her, he stood over her for a moment, torn. Maybe touching her was the wrong idea. But she looked so pitiful that he awkwardly crouched and took her hand. “Nicola.”

She came awake with a gasp, wild-eyed, looking so frightened that he immediately started a calming hum with his harmonics that was normally used to soothe turian children. “Nicola, it’s alright. It’s me.” Her hand tightened on his as she gulped down deep breaths. “You were having a bad dream.”

“Amicus...” She stared at him a moment, her eyes clearing to recognition, and then filling with tears. He almost dropped her hand, shocked. “I’m sorry, did I ... did I wake you...?”

He shook his head, though she had. “I just thought I should ...” He stalled, not knowing what to say. His thumb brushed against the back of her hand. “It was just a dream.” 

Two tears spilled out of her eyes and she moved to him, putting her arms around his neck. He drew her in thoughtlessly and pressed her to his chest, feeling her shudder as she fought tears. Turians didn’t cry, not like this, but they did keen. They grieved. There was more to this than a simple nightmare, he suddenly felt sure of it. His crooned into her hair as she gave in and sobbed into his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a long time. It started to rain, a gentle pattering at the window where it hit the blinds outside. The sky was dark outside; what probably would have been a light-polluted city was dark from the war, still, patches of starlight occasionally showing through the clouds. He stroked her back from between her shoulder blades to her hip, carefully so as to not catch his talons on her clothes. Think of the stars, he told himself. Think of the rain. 

Eventually she quietened and drew him up on the couch next to her, slow with exhaustion. She stayed close, hooked in beside him with her arm twined around his to hold his hand. Alien fingers making the disparity work. He dropped his head to nuzzle at the crook of her neck and she sighed shakily. 

He could hear her heart beating wildly in her throat. Her hand on his was so tight he thought he was going to break it off. She brushed her cheek against his forehead and then turned to press her lips against his crest.

_Fuck_ it. 

Wilfully ignoring common sense and propriety, he took her by the waist and moved her, dragged her leg over his hips so she straddled him. She pressed against him, gripping his cowl. Her lips found his mouth plates. He’d been with an asari before, so he had some notion of what came next, how to approximate a kiss. He opened his mouth, touched his tongue to her lips. She moaned desperately against him.

She was so soft. She was so soft, and it was strange. She was so soft, and she was kissing him, and she _wanted_ him. 

Nic broke away from the kiss, looked at him with hazy eyes -- from tears, or tiredness, or lust, he couldn’t tell. 

Feeling like something -- anything -- needed to be said, he murmured, “Is that...?”

“Yeah,” she said, before he could finish.

“‘Yeah’?” He chuckled and pressed his forehead to hers, felt a radiating pleasure from the peaceful, sleepy way she smiled at him. “Then I don’t think you should stay on the couch tonight.”

She gave a startled, flustered laugh. “If I knew all it would take to get you to invite me to bed was cry a bit, I would have done it ages ago.” 

“This _is_ the first night we’ve actually been alone. I think we’ve done pretty well.” His words made her bite her lip worriedly, so he said softly, “We don’t need to do anything. I’m not an animal.”

“I know.” She gave him an impossibly sweet smile. “... I think I’m too exhausted, and ... well ...”

“I know.” He paused. “I’m afraid I can’t sweep you off your feet; I left my leg in your room.” 

That made her laugh. She helped him up and steadied him as he took his cane. They reached her bed and tumbled in, and she snuggled into him, the fluid shape of her body fitting against his even for all his sharp angles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This possibly should have been included at the end of the last chapter? Oh well.


	5. Mojito

Most of the fallen wreckage of the Citadel was scattered over an almost one-hundred kilometre radius outside of London. 

It was a short trip by shuttle from Nic’s apartment to the search coordinator’s tent. The head-coordinator, a weather-aged human who looked military, grunted when he saw Amicus’ false leg, but folded his arms approvingly at the sight of the pistol hanging from his waist. “Turian military?” he asked. “Know how to use that gun?”

“Ex,” Amicus said, slapping his prosthetic with pseudo-cheerfulness. “And yes.”

The human gave a wry smile. “Good. We need as many guns as we can get.” He jerked his head out towards the closest expanse of Citadel detritus. “We don’t know how they survived, but every now and then a husk will pop up and scare the hell out of our search teams. We’re assigning an armed escort to each search party.” 

He handed Amicus some paperwork. “Fill it out if you want to, but really we’ll accept anyone as long as they’re not just here to loot." A beat. "...That leg going to be a problem?”

“Not against husks,” Amicus said slowly, taking the paperwork and writing his name down in human common script. “But ... marauders, or...”

Military shook his head. “No, nothing like that ... so far. The husks are few and far between, let me tell you. But enough to be a worry. We don’t want any more deaths.” His voice was heavy. He glanced at the paper Amicus handed back and said, “Welcome aboard, Amicus Laetion. I’m Commander Bailey.” He shook Amicus’ hand. 

“Pleasure.” 

The Commander grimaced. “We’ll see.”

 

The memory of Nicola, blurry eyed and haloed by the morning sun, was the only thing that got him through the day. 

She had given him a spare passkey before she left for work. He felt a small pang; some part of him had hoped she’d be coming with him on the search. She’d also left him information on his (mercifully still working) omnitool about how to reach her, and a contact name for the search party organisers. 

“You’ll be okay?” she’d asked, voice soft with sleep and worry.

“Of course.” He had lightly nipped the back of her hand, making her blush bright red. “See you tonight.”

Searching the wreckage was horrible.

There were so many dead. They found bodies of every species, turian, human, volus ... even plenty of dead keepers. Every so often they found a live keeper; one of the humans in Amicus’ search party commented that the enigmatic Citadel workers seemed more durable than the Citadel itself. It was quickly apparent that the search for survivors was, in practice, moving, identifying, and burning countless dead.

He asked in passing about Vakarian.

“He was here for a day or so, a few days ago,” a human named Reiko told him. “But he got called away on hierarchy business. There were a few other members of the Normandy here...”

“A woman, a doctor, Doctor Chakwas, is still here,” someone piped up.

“There’s a few that come and go, but they’re busy,” Reiko said.

Even though he couldn’t move with his former agility or speed on his prosthetic, he was strong enough and sharp-eyed enough that he could aid his party. Amicus found no less than twenty-six dead that day.

“Good work,” Bailey said when they traded places with the night teams. “You really helped us out.” 

When Amicus didn’t, couldn’t, summon the energy to reply, Bailey gave a swift sigh and reached into a crate. “Here. We found a bunch of dextro rations the other day, I’m gonna send them to the turian and quarian forces still stationed here but ... well ... haven’t got round to it yet. Take some.” 

Too tired to argue, Amicus stuffed them into his jacket pocket. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Right. Rest that leg.” Bailey nodded his dismissal.

 

By the time he got home, it was late and he had realised that his leg was indeed aching like a fresh wound. He couldn’t wait to shed his prosthetic. Nicola took one look at him and jumped up from her chair, looping his arm over her shoulders as he sagged against her. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Is the hot water running?” he asked wearily.

Nic nodded, pressing her hand against his mandible. “Cold ...” She helped him to the bathroom, peeling off his shirt in a businesslike manner, but her hands faltered when she reached his trousers. She’d seen him wearing less before, while he was in hospital and when she helped him with his prosthetic, but not since the night before. They glanced at each other. 

Amicus’ mandibles flickered happily when he saw her shy grin. “I can do the rest,” he said.

“You sure you don’t want me to help?” The sly tone in her voice almost made him jump, but she turned with a laugh and left the bathroom, saying, “I’ll fix us some food.”

He shook his head and stripped off, lowering himself to sit under the rushing hot water rather than risk falling over like an idiot. It was wondrous. He felt like something cold-blooded being reanimated by the sun. 

Nic had some of the dextro rations heated for him when he returned to her, and was downing something that looked like long white worms covered in a red sauce. He sniffed, confused by the savoury smell of it. “What by all the moons is that?”

“It’s pasta!” Nic said, sounding affronted. “Want to try it? I’ll trade for some of your meat slop.”

“Meat slop? This is grade A scarlet aggressor spam, thank you very much,” he mimicked her tone, and she grinned. 

“What the hell is a scarlet aggressor?”

They traded bites, thankful that at least if it wasn’t nutritious for either of them, neither was it poisonous or allergenic. Amicus couldn’t say that he liked it, too peculiar for him to wrap his mind around it. From the confused expression on Nicola’s face as she tasted his food, she was clearly thinking the same thing.

He thought he would be too tired to do anything but fall into bed, but Nic had other ideas. 

“I got you something,” she said, brandishing a bottle of turian beer. He blinked at her as she produced a pack of cards from her pocket. “Let me teach you the games of my people,” she said solemnly. 

“I know how to play poker,” he said, amused. He took the beer from her. “Where did you get this...?”

“I was saving it. Thought I could sell it.” She went to the cupboard and pulled out another bottle. “And look! White rum! I can mix it with water and pretend that it has all other things required of a mojito in it,” she said wryly. 

Mandibles twitching in amusement, he took her hand and pulled her towards him, not missing the way she tensed. “Not that I mind drinking and playing cards with you all night, but what’s the occasion?”

“I just thought you would probably want to relax and have fun tonight.” She didn’t meet his eyes.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with nerves, does it?” he asked her shrewdly. She gave him an almost guilty, sprung look. “Nicola...” He kept a gentle grip on her hand, hesitant despite himself. “You can back out of ... this ... whenever you want, you know...” He stopped talking when he saw she was already shaking her head.

“That’s ... that’s not it. I’ve just never been with anyone who’s not ... human before. I’m just a scaredy-cat.”

He pulled her down so he could nuzzle her. She instinctively kissed his nose and he said, “That’s fine. We’ll work it out.” There was a teasing note to his voice as he said, “You already have a better idea of turian anatomy than most humans would.” 

Her mouth made a confused slanted line, torn between embarrassment and laughter. She pushed her forehead against his, hard, and he laughed. “Alright, alright,” she said. “So are we playing poker or not?”


	6. Poker game

Their poker game didn’t last long.

“You’re bloody good at poker, for a turian.” Nicola was losing spectacularly, and when Amicus swept Nicola’s coin collection -- which they were using for chips -- towards him, she let out a disgusted snort and put her cards down. 

“Perhaps it’s the amount of alcohol you’ve consumed,” Amicus said, teasing her. His beer was almost gone and Nic had put a sizeable dent in her rum. She’d stopped watering it down at some point even though drinking it straight made her cough every time. 

“Well maybe you should not be so good at alien card games,” Nicola said with a growl, picking up her drink just to put it down again. She crawled towards where he sat on the couch and rested her chin on top of his knee. “Who taught you how to play, anyway?”

“Poker got pretty popular in the turian military for a while. We have a similar game from one of the turian colonies, but gambling was never involved.” He put down his cards and lightly touched her hair. She smiled when he tilted his head to the side, began playing with it, obviously mystified by it. “It was taught to us by human military, of course, but unlike Alliance regulations gambling isn’t banned for us.” 

“Hmm.” Nicola closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of Amicus stroking her head. 

She heard him chuckle. “Don’t fall asleep on me now. Don’t tell me you can’t hold your liquor.” 

“I _can_ , thank you.” She sounded childish even to herself. To make up for it (or so she told herself) she opened her eyes and stood, resting her hands on his shoulders so she leaned over him, her face almost close enough to kiss him, or head butt him if that was the turian equivalent.

They stayed like that for a few moments. She found herself licking her lips and tried fruitlessly to stop herself from blushing. Maybe he would take the lead, maybe he would ...

But he sat still and quiet, looking up at her with those bright, autumn-coloured eyes. The turian capacity for stillness unnerved her slightly. It was the complete absence of expression; she relied on his body language to tell how he was feeling. She took a breath, noticed that his mandibles were held loosely away from his jaw, relaxed. His breathing was slow and deep, with no trace of the lingering problems caused by the smoke. The thinner skin at his neck seemed a little bluer than usual. 

So she lowered her head to his, kissing his mouth, then his mandible. She saw his eyes close and his head moved, ever so slightly, into her kiss. When she mimicked his strange turian head butt he let out a shaky breath. She realised he’d been holding it since she’d kissed him. So she did it again, kissed his mouth until he moved into her, gave way to the softness of her tongue. She mumbled, “Amicus,” against his mouth.

He gave a two-toned groan and moved her so that she lay on the couch beneath him, her legs either side of his bent knees. His forehead grazed hers and his hand, his talons, dragged down over her the front of her shirt. Her breath caught in her throat. She clutched the couch cushions as if she were about to fall, panting from the sudden wave of longing that rushed through her. 

“You’re braver than you think you are,” Amicus said. She looked into his eyes distractedly.

“What?”

“You were afraid to start this. But you did it anyway.” His hands found the curve of her waist, applied pressure to either side.

“You knew?” she said, annoyed. “God damn it, Amicus, I was about to wimp out of it...!” She had to swallow her words as his pressed his mouth to hers. She could hear him chuckling in the back of his throat and it sent another thrill through her. God, she loved his voice, even smoke-ravaged and hoarse as it was.

“I wanted you to start.” His mouth moved to her throat and she gave a stifled moan as he licked it. “Didn’t occur to you that I could be nervous, too?” 

She snorted. “Sure. Big war hero that you are, scared of a little human girl--” She broke off, distracted by his attention to her ear. 

His touches became hesitant. “I’m no war hero.” His voice was so quiet that if he hadn’t been right next to her ear, she wouldn’t have heard him. “In all of that carnage and ... and destruction, it was _smoke_ that put me down.” He sounded half amused, half spiteful. “Not a ... not anything heroic...” 

She put her hand at the back of his neck and he made a soft sound of pleasure. “You’re a hero to me,” she said quietly. He looked at her and she turned her head away, embarrassed. “You are to me, okay? So ...”

He looked at her, silent again, until she met his eyes. She tried to say something like, ‘so don’t say stuff like that’, but his mandibles flickered and he kissed her again, smoothing the fabric over her hips until she couldn’t think about anything but his touch.

 

Understandably, perhaps, it was a little awkward. 

They both instinctively sought the pleasure centres of their own species, and though nothing went horribly wrong, it took a while for things to start going _right_. Amicus seemed obsessed with her waist and the back of her neck. Her hands kept moving to the hard keel of his chest. She felt like a fumbling teenager, having to unlearn the things that her few experiences with men of her own species had taught her. But then she decided that she liked the feeling of his hands around her waist, and he loved the way she scratched at the edge of his cowl when she was diverted, and everything started to click. At some stage they moved from the couch to her bed.

It ended too quickly, thanks a combination of nervous tension and -- for him -- the impossible pleasure of her mouth on him. After that, though he was almost too scared to try, with her encouragement he returned the favour. Predatorily he loved her taste. She was shocked into orgasm at the rough surface of his tongue. 

Soothed, relieved, and still a little embarrassed at how much they had enjoyed it, they fell asleep. Amicus’ dreams were full of her, and for the first time in a long time, Nicola did not dream at all.


	7. Vakarian

Bright sunlight, for a change, filtered through the blinds that morning. When Amicus woke up, Nic was still there. He shifted to look at the time and realised she would normally have left by now. 

“Nic?” He smoothed her hair back from her face, noticing for the first time the tiny brown dots covering her skin across her cheeks. He smiled. They were so close together she looked more tanned than freckled. “Nic, you’ll be late for work.”

Nicola opened her eyes blearily, struggled to sit up for a moment, then collapsed back into the sheets and snuggled close. “No. I’m covering Noor’s night shift,” she mumbled.

“So you’ll leave later?” 

“Mm.” She cracked an eye and squinted up at him with a smile. “Good morning.”

He gave a soft huff of laughter and nuzzled her neck. “Good morning.”

She gave a happy sigh. “Are you going to the Citadel today?”

“Yeah.” He sat up and stretched, feeling the bones in his neck creak.

She wound her arms around his waist and he felt a bolt of pleasure shoot straight to his groin. “Maybe I should come search with you...”

“No.” His voice was alarmed enough that she opened her eyes to look at him. He tried to keep his voice calm. “No, you should stay here and rest.”

“Why?” She sat up, disentangling her arms from around him. “Is it really that bad?”

He scratched his neck. It was. “... You should rest. For your shift.”

She looked at him quietly for a moment, eyes searching his, but then she nodded and settled back into the blankets. “Alright. Be careful.”

“I’m not going right away,” he said, enjoying her delighted smile as he leaned over her. 

 

“Laetion,” Bailey said. “This is Garrus Vakarian.”

Coming face-to-face with Garrus Vakarian was not something Amicus had ever anticipated doing, and yet there they were. The turian advisor was one of the most important people in the Hierarchy. He must have pulled a lot of strings to find the time to be at the crash site; either that, or he was playing truant. He was taller than Amicus, and much more heavily built, even without the heavy armour he wore. Amicus felt his stomach tighten nervously as Vakarian’s blue eyes turned to him. 

“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Amicus said cautiously. His harmonics were carefully neutral, set to convey deference and nothing else. 

Vakarian’s eyes flicked a familiar path over Amicus’ unmarked face, then moved to take in his missing leg. When their eyes met again, Vakarian’s manner was brisk and cool. He nodded. “Likewise, Laetion. You’re with me today.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Another turian was with them, a female he hadn’t met before. She had cream coloured colony markings and calm brown eyes and plates. Bailey introduced her as Virra. Amicus wondered why they had been grouped together, but suspected it was probably because of Vakarian. From her body language, Virra was clearly outranked by Vakarian, as Amicus was.

We’ll do as he says and won’t ask questions, Amicus thought as Vakarian led him to a skycar. The perfect soldiers.

Their destination was the main crash site: the presidium ring. While not as expansive as the wards, it was denser and had survived the crash with less damage and scattering. 

“We’ve been having trouble getting into the ring,” Vakarian was saying, his words crisp and his sentences short. He sounded strained, with a curious stress on his harmonics. Grief, hurt, and anger, all badly repressed. It was so unusual to hear that level of expression in subvocals that it took a moment for Amicus to decipher them. He blinked, and saw Virra do the same. Vakarian didn’t seem to notice. Perhaps he had spent so long around humans and other species that his control was lessened.

“We’ve found a way in through a keeper port, but it seems a few more of the reaper forces survived the blast from its interior. A group of husks attacked the first search party in. Have your weapons ready.”

“Aye, sir,” Virra said. Amicus nodded. Vakarian turned his icy gaze on him and he found himself saying, “Yes, sir,” as well.

When they got to the duct, which was barely more than a hole in the wall, Amicus sighed. He pulled himself through on his forearms, and to his surprise Virra lent a hand to pull him through when they reached an open space. “Thank you,” he said, and she flicked her mandibles once in a smirk.

“No problem, limpy,” she said. Amicus sighed inwardly. At least she wasn’t calling him ‘bare-face’. 

When they came out into more cavernous space, Amicus realised they were underneath one of the gardens of the Presidium. Roots wormed their way through the roof, giving Amicus the distinct impression that they were far underground. They reached an area where the roof had fallen in, and with some manoeuvring managed to hoist themselves up. There were the gardens, darkened by a crumpled metal sky, far above their heads. 

Bodies greeted them. Virra let out a sigh as Amicus knelt by the body of an asari, her dress torn and head badly smashed. Vakarian strode on, gun out, taking in the room before he turned to look at them.

“We’re not here to move the dead.” Virra and Amicus looked up as Vakarian addressed them. “This place is like a kivata warren. Look for survivors only.” He stalked ahead of them. 

Amicus looked at Virra and she shrugged. “Let’s get this over with,” she said.

 

Virra turned out to be good company. She was rude and coarse, and clearly considered Amicus beneath her, but that meant she was relaxed, genuine, and to-the-point, all qualities he appreciated. And, as it turned out, she was pretty good in a fight.

The first husk took them by surprise. They were so used to seeing them dead that its prone form was ignored as they swept the room. Virra had entered first, quick and impatient on her feet, and didn’t notice when it stuttered to life, hauling itself to its feet like a puppet on broken strings. It was raising an arm to strike as Amicus entered the room. 

Too late to even call out a warning, Amicus simply raised his pistol and shot. 

“What the...?!” Virra spun on her heel to watch the first husk fall. Before he could even blink, she drew her gun on him. 

He half raised a hand defensively. “Wait--”

She shot. He heard an electronic screech from behind him and his heart jumped as he saw a marauder fall. “Spirits--!” He brought his omnitool up. “Vakarian! Marauder and husks in the south room!” Then he was forced to use his gun. Virra darted past him to position herself at his back. He could hear the sharp ra-ta-tat of her machine gun as she shot at whatever was behind him. He had no time to turn and look.

Gunfire. Amicus’ lungs burned. He stayed still and stable, not quite trusting his brand-new mobility in a combat situation. He took down husk after husk with careful, precise shots to the head. He gritted his teeth, snarled low in his throat. He was slow. Once he missed and the husk almost reached him. He put two bullets into it in panic and it stumbled and fell, sparking but unmoving.

When the hideous visage of a cannibal lurched out of the half-dark towards a fallen husk, Amicus stopped shooting the husks, gasped out, “Cannibal,” to Virra, and concentrated his fire on taking it down.

“I’m a little busy!” Virra growled, punching a husk in the head as it reached her. She spun, fired on the cannibal, and Amicus risked turning to stab an oncoming husk with his omniblade.

“Where are they all coming from?!” Virra yelled. “It’s like we flipped a switch -- got him!” She whooped as the cannibal fell.

Another four or five husks stumbled towards them. Amicus’ heart thudded. There were too many. Then the powerful boom of Vakarian’s rifle cut through the screech of husks. In an instant he had shot them all down. 

He jogged towards them, eyes sweeping the room. “Status?” he said.

“Fine, sir,” Virra said, straightening and snapping him a salute. Amicus panted for breath behind her, hands on his knees. “Thanks for making it in time.”

Vakarian looked at her, mandibles twitching. After a moment, he said, “I shouldn’t have left you. I apologise.”

Virra was almost indignant. “We handled it, sir.”

Vakarian nodded. “You did well.” He turned and began to survey the wreckage. “It could be a good thing ... if the husks survived, others might have too.” He nudged the fallen marauder with his toe. “Never thought I’d see one of these again...”

Virra hauled Amicus upright. “Nice, Limpy!” She grinned. “You’re a mean shot underneath that skinny carapace of yours.” She thumped him in the chest, making him stagger. Vakarian cast them an amused glance.

Amicus gave a half-laugh, half-groan. “You ... you too.” Rude and arrogant she might be, but she’d had his back, and getting through a firefight with someone had a way of bonding them to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I have everything planned out, it's just writing and editing that is taking up a lot of time. Thanks so much for all your kind comments! I really enjoy hearing from you :)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a currently updating fill on the kink meme, but I liked it enough that I thought I'd post it here too. Hopefully will be able to finish it up soon! Thank you to the person who posted the prompt and all the kind commenters on k!meme.


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